Blind Date with a Book Week 2 – TWCS – YA, Romance, and Dystopia!




Four weeks of GiveAways!!!

Enter this week to win one of the following titles in eBook.


Week 2


Breeder,  K.B. Hoyle, Dystopian

Everything about Seventeen’s life is perfect, from her genetics, to her home in Sanctuary, to her status as a Breeder inBreeder-Hi-Res-Cover the Unified World Order. But all that changes when an Enforcer named Pax infiltrates Sanctuary and targets her for extraction from the Controlled Repopulation Program, a program he claims is hiding a dark secret. Mired in confusion and doubt, Seventeen takes the name Pria, the identity of her childhood, and embarks on a quest to discover the truth before it’s too late.






The Six, K.B. Hoyle, YA

9781612130538Darcy Pennington feels like she is an insufferably average thirteen-year-old, but when a change in her dad’s job forces her to attend Cedar Cove Camp, she unwittingly stumbles upon a magical gateway. Along with five other teenagers, she will travel to a world called Alitheia. The “arrival of the Six” was prophesied long ago, but will she have what it takes to save Alitheia?








The End of All Things, Lissa Bryan, Dystopian


After a terrible virus ravages the planet, Carly, one of the few survivors, hides in her apartment in Juneau, trying to survive the best she can with only occasional forays to gather food.  She is discovered by Justin, an ex-soldier intent on making his way to Florida before winter sets in. This is the story of their journey to find a place to begin a new life and a home in each other.







How To Get Ainsley Bishop To Fall In Love With You, T.M. Franklin, Romance/YA9781612133164

Oliver Holmes likes making lists—meticulous procedures for achieving his goals, step-by-step. So when he decides it’s time to declare his feelings for Ainsley Bishop, it’s only natural for him to approach the challenge with a logical and methodical plan.

He decides a perfect birthday gift is the key to success, but finding that gift proves to be a challenge. Oliver will need to watch her carefully for clues to pinpoint exactly what he should give her. And along the way, he might just learn that what Ainsley really needs is not quite what he expected.





More, T.M. Franklin, YA

moreHaunted by terrifying nightmares and certain she’s being watched, college student Ava Michaels finds an unlikely ally in Physics tutor Caleb Foster. But Caleb isn’t quite what he seems. In fact, he’s not entirely human, and he’s not the only one.

Together, the duo faces a threat from an ancient race bent on Ava’s capture, and possible extinction. As Ava fights to survive, she learns the world’s not what she thought.

It’s a little bit more.





Sebastian and the Afterlife, William J. Barry, YA


Sebastian is an average 17 year-old boy, there is one catch … he has just died.  Sebastian awakes in a surreal world somewhere between mortal life and the afterlife.  The Grim Reaper and his loyal agents maintain the law of this mystical realm.  Sebastian soon finds himself at Sapentia, a high school for the departed.  He longs for his lost love, Sarah, who is still alive in the mortal world.  Some things are forbidden; some lines cannot be crossed.  What will Sebastian risk to be close to her again?












i am more: my struggle with anxiety

Worry has always been an unwelcome companion of mine, one which I’ve never quite known how to treat. It has ridden my shoulder like a cartoon devil and whispered imagined calamitous possibilities in my ear. My penchant for worrying has been the butt of many jokes, usually those I inflict upon myself, and laughter always follows. After all, worrying to the excessive degree that I do is quite funny.

Well, it is until it’s not.

On a hot mid-September day in 2013, I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder (GAD). I received the news with mixed emotions.

On the one hand, knowing that doctors had a name for what I’d been experiencing for most of my life was comforting. On top of the usual undercurrent of worry which runs constantly in the background of my thoughts, I’d been experiencing panic attacks which had increased in both frequency and intensity over the past eighteen months. The last one I’d had was the reason I’d broken down and sought help in the first place. After a near-sleepless night filled with nightmares and an irrational fear that I was dying, I’d hyperventilated and nearly blacked out on my morning commute, prompting me to call 911. Finding oneself parked on a grassy, litter-covered shoulder, surrounded by flashing lights and being hooked up to a portable EKG monitor at six o’clock in the morning is not an experience I would wish on my worst enemy.

On the other hand, the diagnosis meant I was mentally ill. That’s not something anyone wants to hear. Especially not a self-proclaimed control freak like myself. I’m the kid who voluntarily did all the work for every group project I was forced to participate in, from elementary school up through college. If someone else got a higher test score than I did, I became depressed. When I miss the perfect move in a game of Tetris, I quit and start over. Okay, maybe these examples just serve as more evidence that I’m mentally ill, but you understand what I’m saying, right? The inability to exert control over one’s own body is a tough pill to swallow for someone who craves control as I do.

Since that mid-September day, I have spent more time than I care to admit hating my anxiety. When it is front and center, my anxiety robs me of joy as it forces my attention away from whatever I’m doing and shines a spotlight on everything that could possibly go wrong:

When my husband is running a little late on his way home from work, I picture him cold and lifeless in a ditch, his motorcycle a twisted heap of burning metal beside him.

When I’m in our apartment alone, I picture myself falling down a flight of stairs, of breaking my neck and slowly fading away because there’s no one there to hear me.

When I don’t hear from a friend for a while, I imagine they have grown to despise me and obsess over what I have done to make them feel that way.

All. The. Time.

These thoughts never really go away. I’ve just learned how to ignore them. Or, when ignoring doesn’t work, to examine them logically and poke fun at their obvious flaws until they dissipate. If you’re into Harry Potter, think of it as my own personal anti-anxiety charm.


Maybe next time I do this, I'll picture Snape in a dress.

But that’s not always enough to quell the panic.

Last summer, I poured myself into writing what became my first novel, The Partition of Africa. I gave the main character GAD, hoping that would give me the outlet I needed to express the thoughts building inside my head. While having Hattie share my illness did lessen my burden, I was surprised to discover the process of writing itself was what helped me the most. The structure, the discipline, the self-imposed deadline – they all fitted together to form a mechanism which unexpectedly held me together. When I didn’t feel like writing, I pushed through because I didn’t want to risk losing this balance I’d somehow managed to obtain. When I wanted to give up, my anxiety – the very thing I hated – would not let me.

I don’t think my constant companion will ever part ways with me, at least not permanently, and I think I’m finally okay with that. I’m not grateful for being an anxious person, but I am grateful for what I’ve learned in my endeavors to control that aspect of my personality. I’ve learned that having a weakness doesn’t necessarily make me weak. I’ve learned that when I lack courage, anxiety can propel me forward in its stead. I’ve learned that, to paraphrase Eleanor Roosevelt, no thought can make me anxious without my consent. And I’ve learned – or perhaps simply rediscovered – that I am more than just my problem.